She was nervous and arrived a little late. She had never been to an exclusively pagan gathering like this before. Of course she had attended pagan conferences and pagan festivals, but this was a private soirée held in the home of a woman who was but a new acquaintance. She had been surprised to receive an invitation at all.
“Darling, lovely to see you. Thank you for coming. Let me take your cloak,” said the hostess with the mostess… most of which was bulging over a medieval wench style corset that creaked at the seams from holding in so much bosom. Her chenille skirts glistened and crinkled in the candlelight. This was the first thing she noticed; no electric lights, just candles everywhere throwing mobile shadows while warming and softening faces so everyone looked at least a little beautiful, even if they were not.
She was given a glass of champagne, one of her favourite drinks but she really wished it was water. She loved the way the bubbles fizzed up her nose and gave her hiccupy burps, but looking around at this conglomeration of esoteric elites she was suddenly sure that none of them had ever, ever giggled over champagne burps and a tickly nose. This was a crowd of people she wished to remain sober around.
“Here, let me introduce you to some people. This is Edmund, he’s a druid, lives near Glastonbury.”
Edmund smiled though his eyes contained a tad of suspicion and distance. He wore a white robe and manfully juggled stang, drink and canapé.
“What are you?” he asked rather gruffly.
Before she could answer, Busty Corset said, “Seshat is a witch, dear.”
“Oh, I won’t ask what kind, just not interested in the politics. Stick to the land, the land will tell you everything you need to know.”
“Erm, thank you?” said Seshat with a questioning lilt as she wasn’t sure if she had been insulted or awarded the benefit of another’s wisdom.
Busty Corset took her elbow and propelled her to the far corner of the dark and flickering room.
“You must meet Cynthia, she communes with angels.”
“Oh Lordie”, thought Seshat, very ungraciously.
“Hello,” said Cynthia with a sweet smile that immediately made Seshat feel bad for pre-judging her. “I’m Cynthia. I see you surrounded by angels of light. You are so lucky. Would you like me to speak with them?”
“Erm, thank you?” said Seshat, again unsure whether this was a desirable thing or not. “I … if you like.”
“There is one beautiful angel with his hand resting on your head. He loves you, especially that one outfit you wear that has a split up the …”
“I’m sure Seshat doesn’t want to hear about that, dear. Let her commune with her own angels for tonight, okay?”
Cynthia, who had taken on a slightly predatory look and was licking her lips, looked disappointed.
“There’s someone over here you must meet. Michael, darling, this is Seshat. She talks to spirits too.”
“Do you see them?” asked Michael whose eyes darted from place to place like he was trying to keep track of fireflies.
“See who? Now you mean? Or in general? I…”
“Do you see, hear or feel them, or all three?”
“I, kind of, well, I don’t really like to talk about it much.”
A candle at Michael’s right shoulder exploded a bit of wax over his velvet jacket.
“Get away, I tell you. I won’t speak to you.” Michael started batting the air around him.
Seshat smiled, baring perhaps a little too much tooth and excused herself. She headed for the drinks table. Maybe she was going to need more than champagne to get through this evening.
She started chatting to a Hedge Witch at the buffet table. The woman seemed sane and normal, and soon they were discussing when was the best time to plant certain herbs. Suddenly, Seshat felt something large attach itself to her leg. She looked down and saw a man clinging to her leg like a koala to a Eucalyptus tree. He was moving up and down in a manner that looked suspiciously like …
Seshat turned to the Witch. “Who’s that? What’s he doing to my leg?”
“Oh, that’s Fred. He’s a sex magician, that’s just how they say hello.”
“Oh,” said Seshat, looking down. “Hello.”
The sex magician looked up at her and gave her a wink. “Alright?”
“Yes, um, fine. Please don’t ladder my tights.”
“I know Tantra, special techniques for avoiding that.”
Two minutes later he detached himself, winked again and walked off.
“What a, um, friendly man,” said Seshat as she saw him walk across the room only to attach himself to another person’s leg.
“Yes, awfully nice. Good in bed apparently. Has lots of practice so you’d bloody hope so, hey?!”
The Hedge Witch sniggered and Seshat smiled feeling entirely out of her depth.
A man with a fulsome beard sidled up to her. “Hi, I’m Phillip, I’m a lycanthrope.”
“Of course you are…” said Seshat
“I hear you’re a witch.”
“Just a witch. Nothing special. Nothing in particular. Not hereditary. Not entirely solitary, but not in a coven…” Seshat stared into her drink with embarrassment, she was good at saying what she was not but stumbled to say what she actually was. She felt that everyone at the party carried some kind of credentials even if it was just the recognised acceptance of the group that they were ‘such-and-such’. They had the certificates, the initiations, the handshakes (or leg-humps), the badges, T-shirts and car bumper stickers (“My other vehicle’s a broom” or “Satanists do it with horns on”). Phillip looked at her kindly.
“You don’t feel too comfortable here, do you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I felt totally on the fringe when I first started coming to these parties. You get used to everyone. They’re just very honestly what they are, you know? No hiding it behind a facade of administrator, personnel manager or social worker. They can just be themselves here. WE can just be ourselves.”
Seshat looked around. Everyone was in conversation … all with visible conversation partners except Michael who stood conversing with the shadows thrown by the curtain. There was colour, vibrancy and outright kooky weirdness. “Maybe this is where I belong,” wondered Seshat to herself.
“Fancy a walk?” asked the Lycanthrope. “There’s a beautiful full moon outside and a nice woodland just at the back of the house.”
“Erm, thank you?” said Seshat… She paused. A lycanthrope by moonlight in a forest… She downed her refilled glass of champagne in one and promptly burped at Phillip.
He grinned. “Good bubbles, huh?”
She smiled at him, suddenly sure of herself. “Great bubbles.”
Yes, she probably did belong just where she was.
This is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead or other is entirely coincidental :-p